The Paths of Yesterday,
just wont go away,
like a scarf caught in the millwheel,
I must feel, that strange pull,
of life so full,
with smiling faces,
fenland traces,
to magic wood,
where all is understood.
This cursed decaying,
stinging ageing,
no more to playing,
think twice before saying,
what is obvious,
dressed to new age gloss.
The burning Sun
lets go its Son
who dreamed its rays,
in yesterdays,
of mice and men,
the Now of Then,
now come the night,
I will fight and fight,
to last heartbeat,
never to retreat,
my eyes never to close,
on dreams such as those,
will I wake tomorrow,
who will take this sorrow?
I really like this Chris not only what it says but the meter that it written in.
Richard
Chris, a flood of invention coming from you! Great.